


Eats, Shoots, and Leaves

by beachkid (binz), binz, shiplizard



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Animal Play, Community: kink_bingo, Exhibitionism, Food Kink, M/M, Multi, Public Sex, Size Kink, Voyeurism, Winter Bike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/beachkid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/binz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is invited to dinner and a show, not entirely in that order.</p><p>Post <i>Changes</i>. This fic is known to its friends as "Man on a Goethe Having Lunch". Draw your own conclusions about what company it keeps. Warning for promiscuous!Harry. 50 000 words of angst not included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eats, Shoots, and Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 round of kink bingo, for the **exhibitionism** square.

So the evening started out with me eying the Erlking's banquet table, the carved tokens that denoted the place of each guest, not seeing the snowflake-and-sword for the Winter Queen's Knight-emissary, and saying: "Am I sitting at the kid's table or what?"

The Erlking looked up from the head of the table, currently the only other figure in the hall. I'd gotten there early-- a survival tactic I'd picked up early into my Knighthood. Within the first two hours- early into my Knighthood. "I don't think I quite heard that, Knight."

I closed my eyes, reminded myself what could happen if I disobeyed Mab's orders to be on, and I quote, 'your best behavior, little one,' and tried again. "Mighty Jaegerkoenig, I mean no offense. But I can't find my goddamn seat."

He laughed, a rich bass sound. "Would I offend your Queen by giving her emissary less than the prize position?"

"...no?" I guessed.

He pushed back, his massive oak chair sliding as lightly as balsa wood doll furniture on greased rails, and patted his thigh.

Aw crap.

I was Mab's Knight, one of the very few mortals privy to the political and social inner circles of the fae. I was unique, and exotic in my own way... and, you know, an unknown quantity. All Knights, I was told, went through this breaking-in period; the local bigwigs poked, prodded, teased, picked fights, and tried to get the new Knight in trouble. It would settle down soon, Toot-toot had reassured me. A decade, tops.

Yay.

I stared at my host (and THERE'S a loaded word in the Nevernever) blankly, knowing that I was being set up for a massive political pratfall, that refusal would 'offend', and that I had no clue how to sweet talk my way out of it. I jumped to my gut reaction-- pure contrarianism.

"Okay."

The cruel mouth curved. I'd done something right, or at least amusingly wrong, and the game went on. Spiffy. As the other guests started to filter in, I found myself a place off to the side of the hall where I could largely be ignored. Fae and Nevernever creatures of all variety gossiped, mingled, had obvious circles they moved in-- not too different from an expensive cocktail party in the mortal world. I was out of sight and mind, right up until a silvery horn sounded, ringing high and sweet and sending shivers straight through me-- and sending everyone else filtering to their seats. The crowd thinned, disappeared, and then I was standing awkwardly off to the side, singled out without a place of my own. The Erlking stood, made the ceremonial welcomes.

"Be seated," he said, and fifty-odd fae did.

And fifty-odd sets of eyes watched as I walked stiffly over and sat on the Erlking's lap.

He was screwing with me. I knew it. They knew it. The surprised pause didn't last a breath; everyone went back to talking and bitching about the wait for the food.

It wasn't an uncomfortable seat, all things considered; the Erlking wasn't in his armor, but some sort of warm leather gear. His legs were wide and muscular, and he had enough height on me to make my perch slightly less awkward, as long as he didn't need to use his left arm for anything. And I could enjoy the thought that, with my bony ass added into the mix, it might be more uncomfortable for him than it was for me. So: awkward. But you know, not terrible.

And there was the thing that-- the Erlking... okay. You know the gargoyles and grotesques on cathedrals? Yeah. Imagine someone started carving one of those and halfway through someone switched their reference out for the _Firemen and Their Big Hoses_ 2007 calendar. On paper the toothy smile and bestial ridged face and cold grandeur do not a sex object make, but in person... um. Let's just say my seat wasn't without its benefits.

Maybe a month or two ago I'd have kicked up a bigger fuss, but I was into my adjustment period-- and that wasn't unusual for Knights either. Someone gets the Queen's sword (hurr hurr pun ENTIRELY INTENDED, Stars) and they wind up over-indulging as they get used to their new non-mortal digs: fighting a lot, eating a lot, sleeping a lot... screwing a lot....

So I hadn't done the fighting or the sleeping. Maybe some eating. But sex... I'd had some horizons expanded. The fact that my host had a dick wasn't quite the deal-breaker it had been, once. And I might have been able to keep my mind completely off sex, if...

None of the other fae were watching. They didn't care; knew I was being dicked around. They might have looked if the Erlking had bent me over the table, but only maybe. Something told me they'd have seen it before. Or at least something like it. But there was one guest at the table who was _staring_.

Kincaid's eyes tracked to me. To the congregation. To the Erlking. To me.

I met his gaze, focusing a glare at his eyebrows. _Yeah? What're you going to do about it?_

The food came out, borne by goblin servants, and Kincaid lost my gaze again.

"Is the Hellhound your paramour?" The Erlking asked, midway through some un-named meaty dish. "Or are you just being flirtatious this evening, Knight?" His voice was so low that it mostly registered as a vibration in my tailbone.

I paused with a piece of the meat halfway to my mouth. Some kind of bird. Quail, maybe. "...What?" I looked over again before I could help it, and Kincaid glanced away a second too late.

The Erlking chuckled, lower even than his voice. It hit me lower, too. He reached over, snagged the meat off my fork. I half-turned my head, about to ask him what he thought he was doing, when I was brought up short by his fingers, and the meat, pressed against my lips.

So that's how this was going to be.

I narrowed my eyes; opened my mouth. Let him slip the little tidbit in.

His burning red eyes squinted in amusement, and I glanced to the end of the table to catch Kincaid wide-eyed.

"Do you think he likes our games, little Knight?" the Erlking asked, faint lines in his broad, dangerous face crinkling deeper around those eyes, and tore another piece off my meal to slide between my lips before I could answer.

"I think he's weirded out," I said wryly, once I'd swallowed. "He thinks I'm a eunuch."

Another basso chuckle. "So you don't think he wants you."

"No-- whoa!" I yelped, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. But you stay quiet when a clawed hand the size of a dinner plate caresses your inner thigh.

"Is something amiss?" the massive Sidhe asked, all politeness, hand still resting over my leg.

"No. No. Just spiffy."

He fed himself a bite with his free hand and then tucked another bit into my mouth, claws and fingers gleaming with grease from the meat. Then he took a drink of rich wine. "A taste-?" he offered.

"Sure," I said-- and could have kicked myself when he tipped my chin up and leaned in. His lips were tart with the wine and his Stars and Stones the size of his tongue oh my God whoa.

I realized my eyes had fallen shut and I blinked, running my tongue around the inside of my mouth to pick up the last traces of wine. I looked back down the table. Kincaid was staring; he had a roasted potato skewered on an eating dagger and it was just hanging halfway to his mouth.

The Erlking's hand moved under the table, just a hot weight through my pants that glided over really sensitive spots inside my thigh. My eyes crossed.

"And the Hellhound still watches," the Erlking mused into my ear. "Still 'weirded', do you think?"

"I don't know. I'm not his shrink."

"It wouldn't be such a strange thing, Knight. No great mortal beauty, I'll give you, but you're not all bones and skin. Lean and long. Like a hunting dog. A deer."

"-- can we go back to animals you don't eat, maybe?" And I totally wasn't scowling about the 'no mortal beauty' comment.

He laughed out loud at that, the noise rolling over the table and making the goblets rattle. And making fifty-odd fae break off their conversations and look over, curious.

Pfft, like they wouldn't have liked the attention. I leaned back into the Erlking's chest smugly-- Hell's bells, it was like a breathing rock wall. Kincaid was still working on the same roasted potato. I think he'd managed to take a whole bite.

I lifted my goblet for a drink of wine, and didn't protest when the Erlking swirled a finger in it, resting it on my lower lip, right over the scar. I sucked the droplets off of his finger, felt something pulse faintly under my ass. ...Stars and Stones, I had thought that was his _scabbard_.

I smirked at him and sucked his finger a little deeper. So sue me. It's nice feeling sexy.

Kincaid was _still_ working on his half a potato. I shifted my hips a little and toodled my fingers his way, breaking off when the Erlking's hand stopped skirting the issue under the table and his knuckles grazed over my oh yeah I guess I was erect. I jerked, caught by the surprise, and the hand by my face came and closed over my stomach, finger pulling free of my mouth with a pop, broad and strong enough to stretch across my middle and hold me still.

All those eyes suddenly seemed like a lot ...more. My breathing sped up.

"Are you enjoying my hospitality, Knight?"

I grit my teeth, put on a nice smile, and gripped his, uh, scabbard with my ass cheeks as hard as I could. "You're very accommodating, my lord."

He smiled and turned his attention away again: I smirked at the guests and fed myself a little as the Erlking made polite conversation, talking to a large bark-textured creature on one side of us about tithes, complimenting the workmanship on a Sidhe lady's breast plate, sharing a laugh and an anecdote with a leafy hunter. It was nice, my seat was warm... but I was starting to feel a little neglected.

I shifted after a few minutes, circling my hips deliberately. He flexed the hand still stretched across my stomach, claws scratching ever so lightly through my shirt. I shivered, aware of his size in a way I'd forgotten, getting smug and confident on his lap, and looked over to Kincaid again. He'd lost the rest of his potato, I could see it on his plate, but he kept his knife up, dangling in front of his face. His eyes darted away from me this time; he stabbed at his meat, shredding it without eating it, and reached for his wine. The Erlking leaned down to speak in my ear:

"Don't tease him so that you put the Hellhound off his feed, little Knight," he scolded. "Or I will be forced to train a new hound, lest his place be lost in the hunt." He stroked a few gentle circles on my belly, in case I had missed just who he was talking about.

"...kinky, Jaegerkoenig," I said, which was a joke in and of itself: to make a fae raise an eyebrow, you need props and a cast of thousands. A little dog-play? Yawn. ...to him, anyway. The image was disturbing. And interesting. And disturbing again because it reminded me of my Godmother. "I'm more of a cat person."

"I'll keep my fine leather collar for another day." A claw tickled around my neck. He was joking. ...I hoped.

"Sit," he told me, and tapped at my ribs. I straightened, back cooling suddenly when the heat of his chest was gone, and he chuckled again. I think I missed a joke. He slid one big hand under me and tugged me back, making me squirm when he touched a few places that were more sensitive than others, teasing the seam down the back of my jeans. He rearranged me so his dick rubbed firmly between my ass cheeks, pushed against my balls, and pulled me back so I was against his chest and belly again, but without the benefit of the table edge to help disguise my arousal.

He cupped my dick with his left hand, arm pinning me down with ease and what looked like no effort of muscle, and plucked a piece of meat off his own plate to feed to me with his other hand. I caught his fingers between my teeth, nipped carefully -- those claws were sharp -- and smirked when he kept a finger in there long after the food was gone.

He pulled out and replaced his finger with a bone. I blinked, then started sucking the remaining meat from it, and realized our plates were mostly picked clean. Kincaid, down at the end of the table, hadn't noticed. He stabbed his knife into the table without looking and tried to eat a fold of tablecloth.

There was a whisper of noise, growing into a shuffle and a concerto of tiny clinks, and the goblins reappeared to bear away the empty dishes and replace them with new ones. It was some sort of dessert dish. Gelled. Red. ...Visible eyeballs. I smiled politely at the goblin sliding a plate before the Erlking, another ready for me. "No thanks," I said, taking the bone out of my mouth to drop on a plate being cleared away. "I'll digest for this course. Eyeballs can make me gassy." It's not like I'm squeamish about meat-- I did spend part of my adolescence on a farm. It's just that I don't like it when my meal looks back.

The Erlking gave me an indulgent smile. "What will you do now?"

I turned my blink of surprise into a smug smile on the way, not willing to show that he knew and I knew he'd caught me out. I glanced down the table, and quickly realized I was the only one without the new dish. Oops.

And it seemed like everyone else was starting to notice too. Those eyes were all coming back to me, curious-- I'd just done something that might be interesting, or at least politically damning, and they would spare a moment to see if it was worth watching. I found Kincaid, and the Erlking tightened the hand he had curled around my dick, drawing my attention back to it while all the fae looked on, waiting.

"What do you think the Hellhound is thinking of?" The Erlking asked, his smile going conspiratorial around the edges. His big scary face was surprisingly expressive-- but I'd already learned that most things about the Erlking were surprising. He pumped with his hand, flexed his thighs, and lifted his hips a hair's breadth; I rocked up in my seat, sweat popping up in little pinpricks while I tried to ignore all those eyes growing hotter, keeping my face tilted up to look at the Erlking.

"I don't care what he thinks," I said, rocking myself up this time, sliding down the freaking arsenal the Erlking kept in his pants. He moved his hands, holding me loosely at each hip.

"You are a bold one," he agreed, smile turning amused as we shared the joke, not calling me out on what had to be a pretty obvious interpretation of the truth. "Brave. Daring. Invading my hall. Summoning me with your little mortal magic." I swallowed, but kept moving. I was one of a very select group who knew how to summon the Erlking. ...I really hoped this wasn't going to be about that.

He hadn't touched his dish yet; therefore, neither had any of his guests. I could hear them shifting, their voices murmuring. Wondering what was holding their host's attention. Something felt like it was burning two holes clear through my head, probably setting fire to the wall on the far side. Kincaid. Watching. The asshole. Like he didn't wish it was him.

I smiled at the Erlking, strained up and twisted to kiss him-- licked his lips, and let him slide that giant good God I'd forgotten how tongue into my mouth. Then I slid off his lap, clearing the space between his very high table and his very big legs mostly because he had the good nature to spread his knees for me as I went down, and landed in a crouch.

I took a moment to get my bearings. The noise -- a flurry first of curiosity, then the chimes and clinks of knives and glasses and plates as the feasting started again, then the murmuring of voices as conversations resumed-- was muffled, sounding so far away in the faux-privacy under the heavy wood table, where everything was dark and shadowed, legs and shoes, dresses and trousers, the spillover of the tablecloth. I spied a pair of worn combat boots that had to be Kincaid; saw his hand twitch under the tablecloth and jerk back.

The Erlking shifted behind me, bringing his chair in closer to the table now that I wasn't in his lap, and giving me a bit more access to work with; so I turned, dropping to kneel and wriggling until I found something like a comfortable position on the hard stone floor. He'd kept his knees apart for me, and I slid my hands up his thighs, letting him know I was there.

I liked my little shadow-cave, the crossed senses of being alone and being the center of activity, knowing that the fae knew I was down here, not knowing how much they cared. I liked the feel of the Erlking's leathers under my hands, the heat of his erection under my fingers, the strength and hardness of it.

I scrambled at the ties of his pants, getting everything undone and loosened enough that I could pull him out and Hell's fucking _bells_ it had to be the size of my forearm. This was going to take some work. I stared at it a minute, trying not to feel like I'd somehow shrunk two feet. It wasn't even inadequacy; it was the amount of space under the table, not being the tallest person in the room, having a dick that size be _proportionate_ to the guy I was going to suck off.

Then I licked a careful hello, mouth filling with the wild, still-familiar taste of skin and precome and musky heat, and the Erlking's hand came down under the table to pet my hair. He ran his big clawed hand down my neck and scratched under my chin like I was his favorite dog or something, begging for scraps, and I laughed, decided I really didn't care, and didn't care how much the guests heard, or what Kincaid was thinking, and to try and see how loud I could make us get.

I licked and sucked at everything I could reach, held his dick and rubbed the head against my mouth, my face, used both hands to wrap around the base of the shaft and pump. His testicles were big enough to rub my entire cheek against-- I tried to get one into my mouth, and couldn't do it gracefully. There was a surprised chuckle from above me, and I grinned. Being the focus of attention without being seen had a lot going for it. It was all kinds of dreamlike and fun and powerful. On some level I knew that I was starring in a live-action feature -- _Harry Does Winter: Wylder Than Ever_ \-- and I liked it. I liked it a lot. I liked knowing that Kincaid knew I was down here and was trying not to touch himself. I liked that I was up close and personal to the Erlking's magnetic body and it wasn't even remotely about revenge or magical duels or anything except getting off. In style.

"Ware yourself," the Erlking warned me lazily, not even trying to lower his voice. There was a feral rumble of appreciation in the sound, his obvious enjoyment dripping from every syllable.

Swallowing wasn't an option -- a gag reflex, I had it -- so I buried my face against his balls and jerked him hard with my hands, feeling him stiffen, muscles in his thighs clenching, balls drawing up, felt the big unstoppable hydraulic pulse when he came, coating my face and hair and some of my back.

It did occur to me to wonder how the hell I was going to get out from under the table and get myself cleaned off without being too obvious about it, but it was pretty quickly a moot point. The Erlking's hand slipped down from my hair and fisted in the back of my shirt, lifting me out from under the table like a piece of luggage. He was at least a little gentle about dropping me face-first over the table, hips hanging off the end in front of him. I tried to get my hands under me to prop myself up, staring around at the politely watching eyes (and Kincaid's dilated, staring ones), and the Erlking tugged down my jeans and leaned over behind me.

And then OH GOD HIS TONGUE HELL'S STARS AND BELLSTONES OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD--

I made a 'maaaaahhhmmm' sound and fisted my hands in the tablecloth, and when I could see straight for a second, everyone had gone back to eating. Now that they knew what was happening again, I guess, it was all passé. But Kincaid was still staring. He was rocking slightly in his chair, hands clawing in the tablecloth one after the other, making a fist and releasing over and over.

I met his eyes, or at least his eyebrows, and grinned a goofy I-have-a-tongue-the-size-of-a-Buick-in-my-ass grin. "Dessert tray?" I said.

He jammed a hand under the table. Mission one-up-the-mercenary was complete, and just in time, because my brain cells swoosh all melty tongue whee stars hooray.

* * *

I'd tried to stay awake for the courtly proceedings after that, but a lot of food and a killer orgasm and some seriously dry and non-whimsical talk dropped me like a rock. The Erlking actually sat me down in a chair -- because the bastard had had an extra just waiting for me to kick up a fuss -- and Mr. Face shortly made good friends with Mr. Tabletop.

"Knight Dresden."

"Mmawake. Jus' resting my eyes," I mumbled. I blinked; my eyes were sticky, and the fires in the hall were burning lower. Everything was shadowed, and the crowd was looking pretty thin.

"Bullshit," Kincaid said shortly. "What the hell did I just watch?"

I gave him an innocent smile. "Politics?"

He gave me a long, long look, squinting hard at me. "...I wouldn't have thought you had the stones."

"No, I totally do. Wanna see?"

"No," he grumbled. "Really don't."

"That's a fib, Mr. Kincaid." I channeled my best lofty superiority, stretched, and stood up, rubbing the back of my hand against my face, which had a linen-weave pattern imprinted in it. Something flaked off when I pushed my hair back, and I fought down the urge to giggle. "Shame on you. Someone will set your pants on fire."

"Dresden. I should--" he was there, suddenly, backing me into the table, eyes intent-- and then he wasn't there, he was about two feet up and a foot back, dangling from the Erlking's hand.

The Erlking tapped his nose with two clawed fingers before he set him down. "Gently, Hellhound. There are rules to this game." And boy did his tone make me uncomfortably aware of the double meaning of 'game' there.

"I did not mean to trespass on your prey, my Lord --" Kincaid started, and was cut off by a toothy smile and a finger over his mouth.

"It's only a little sporting, Hellhound. Trespass away." He stroked Kincaid's thick blond hair. "But only where I can watch."


End file.
